Lest Darkness Fall Read Free Page A

seemed the less probable. He
would act on the assumption that things were in fact what they seemed.
     
                He couldn't stand there
indefinitely. He'd have to ask questions and get himself oriented. The idea
gave him gooseflesh. He had a phobia about accosting strangers. Twice he opened
his mouth, but his glottis closed up tight with stage fright.
     
                Come on, Padway, get a grip
on yourself. "I beg your pardon, but could you tell me the date?
     
                The man addressed, a
mild-looking person with a loaf of bread under his arm, stopped and looked
blank. " Qui' e'? What is it?"
     
                "I said, could you tell
me the date?"
     
                The man frowned. Was he
going to be nasty? But all he said was, " Non compr' endo ."
Padway tried again, speaking very slowly. The man repeated that he did not
understand.
     
                Padway fumbled for his
date-book and pencil. He wrote his request on a page of the date-book, and held
the thing up.
     
                The man peered at it, moving
his lips. His face cleared. "Oh, you want to know the date?" said he.
     
                " Sic , the
date."
     
                The man rattled a long
sentence at him. It might as well have been in Trabresh. Padway waved his hands
despairingly, crying, " Lento !"
     
                The man backed up and
started over. "I said I understood you, and I thought it was October 9th,
but I wasn't sure because I couldn't remember whether my mother's wedding
anniversary came three days ago or four."
     
                "What year?"
     
                "What year ?"
     
                " Sic , what
year?"
     
                "Twelve eighty-eight Anno
Urbis Conditae ."
     
                It was Padway's turn to be
puzzled. "Please, what is that in the Christian era?"
     
                "You mean, how many
years since the birth of Christ?"
     
                " Hoc ille — that's
right."
     
                "Well, now — I don't
know; five hundred and something. Better ask a priest, stranger."
     
                "I will," said
Padway. "Thank you."
     
                "It's nothing,"
said the man, and went about his business. Padway's knees were weak, though the
man hadn't bitten him, and had answered his question in a civil enough manner.
     
                But it sounded as though
Padway, who was a peaceable man, had not picked a very peaceable period.
     
                What was he to do? Well,
what would any sensible man do under the circumstances? He'd have to find a
place to sleep and a method of making a living. He was a little startled when
he realized how quickly he had accepted the Tancredi theory as a working hypothesis.
     
                He strolled up an alley to
be out of sight and began going through his pockets. The roll of Italian bank
notes would be about as useful as a broken five-cent mousetrap. No, even less;
you might be able to fix a mousetrap. A book of American Express traveler's
checks, a Roman street-car transfer, an Illinois driver's license, a leather
case full of keys — all ditto. His pen, pencil, and lighter would be useful as
long as ink, leads, and lighter fuel held out. His pocket knife and his watch
would undoubtedly fetch good prices, but he wanted to hang onto them as long as
he could.
     
                He counted the fistful of
small change. There were just twenty coins, beginning with four ten-lire silver
cartwheels. They added up to forty-nine lire, eight centesimi, or about five
dollars. The silver and bronze should be exchangeable. As for the nickel
fifty-centesimo and twenty-centesimo pieces, he'd have to see. He started
walking again.
     
                He stopped before an
establishment that advertised itself as that of S. Dentatus, goldsmith